I love this place I seem to be. As some kind of tear pushes hard to leak, wanting to join the music of this moment. The song that is singing itself into my eyes makes me humble in the joy of being alive. Gathering again upon the horizon is a spark that for too long has been pushed away. A spark to speak in rhythms of another tongue, beyond the words I know, crossing my outstretched arms that lay folded in my lap. And my fingers long to glide knowingly across keyboards that are somehow still foreign to me.
For I look upon our face, faceted in so many ways around me, my own reflection mixed in with that of you, and you, and you. And I am glorified in the knowing. Touched at the core of all that could be, and all that ever there will seem to be. Happy to be part of this cadence that weaves itself in a march without steps reflecting the music of nuvole bianche, white clouds upon a grove of shimmering sunsets yet to ferment themselves into being out of the open hearts of lovers, yet to be.
And while I do sometimes feel a pulse of sadness brushing against me in other's faces from time to time, I love them too. Each and every one, when I have moments to spare in their direction. But I am no longer stuck upon trying to be them nor in making free those who are not yet ripe to free themselves. I only blow a wish in their direction from time to time, but no longer contemplate their journey as if it is my road to walk. For I have been their way before. And those shoes I used to wear so readily, grew so old and worn, that one day I stepped out of them, and walked freely into a new light. Just as it may be too, with you.
And now I have grown content to realize the truth and float away
into the garden of possibilities
imagining other worlds.
And yet each time I do, the other world I find, is always the one I share with you
